The HR lady

The following Monday, I find myself standing in front of the HR office, my heart pounding as I clutch the envelope tight in my hands. Inside are the printed photos of everything : the card, the jar, the slice of brain. I've already talked to the police, done what I can on that end. But now comes the harder part: bringing it to the university. I don't want to. God, I really don't want to. But it's the responsible thing to do.

The office is quiet, sterile. Beige walls, minimalist furniture, the faint smell of fresh coffee and cleaning products. I knock once, softly, before stepping inside.

The HR rep is a middle-aged woman with sharp glasses and an unreadable face. She looks up from her desk. 

"Deirdre, right?" Her voice is polite, professional, and just detached enough to make my skin crawl.

"Yes," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I walk up to her desk and place the envelope down gently, sliding it across the polished surface. "I need to report something. It's... concerning."

She lifts a brow but doesn't interrupt. I take a breath, then open the envelope and pull out the photos. I lay them in front of her: the valentines day card, then the photo of the jar and its card. She picks them up carefully, like she's not sure she wants to touch them.

There's a long pause.

"What is this?" she asks eventually, her voice a touch colder. "Is this... human?"

I nod slowly. "Yes. It was left in my apartment. Along with the card. I think someone broke in to leave it. I've been followed... watched. I've already filed a report with the police."

She blinks at me, then at the photos again. I can see the shift in her demeanor, this clearly isn't the kind of situation she handles every day. Her expression stays blank, but her posture changes. More alert. More guarded.

"That's... troubling," she says finally. "And you've already spoken to the authorities you say?"

"Yes." I try not to let the anxiety tighten my voice too much. "They're investigating. But I thought the university needed to be aware, in case... I don't know. In case it escalates. Or if it's someone connected to campus." I pause. "Honestly, I just don't feel safe coming to work right now, not knowing who might be nearby."

She leans back, her fingers tapping slowly against the edge of her desk. For a moment, she just studies me. No sympathy, no alarm, just quiet calculation. Then she speaks.

"Understood. This is serious. I'll file a report on our end. But in the meantime, I advise you to be cautious. Don't stay on campus late, Deirdre. We don't want you taking unnecessary risks."

A knot of frustration twists in my stomach. I bite down the urge to say something snarky. I know she's not wrong. Still, the idea of hiding, of shrinking myself down to stay out of danger, makes me feel sick.

"I'll be more careful," I say, forcing my voice to sound more confident than I feel. "But I'm not stepping back from my work. I won't let this person dictate how I live."

She gives a small nod, apparently satisfied with that. "If anything else happens, anything, please notify us right away. Your safety is our priority."

I manage a tight smile. "Thank you."

Then I gather my things and leave the office, the door clicking shut behind me. The weight of the moment still clings to me, thick and heavy. I know this isn't over. If anything, it feels like it's just beginning.

But I'm still standing. And for now, that's enough.